Hobson “Dogs; that’s a lot of dogs.” Hal loudly whispered over to me. “Anything else you’d like to point out, Mr. Obvious?” “Smart ass… no. Do you think they see us?” “Yeah, they see us. They’re headed this way. And fast. I bet this makes you regret coming with me, hey Hal?” “It could be worse, Hobson. It could be worse.” At this point, I didn’t know how. Dogs; ten, by the looks of it, chased us as we scrambled for an idea. We sprinted, with the idea that we’d get make it back to the mansion where the kind old lady had provided hospitality for us the night before. She lives in the past a bit too much, but I don’t care how much she talks, as long as she helps us when… if, we get there. The dogs were on us, and I had a decision to make. “We’re not going to outrun a pack of dogs,” Hal chimed in. I agreed, as that thought was a big part of the decision I had to make. I slung my identity over my shoulder. For the past two days, I had carried this and protected this as I were caring and protecting myself. I did not leave its side. I couldn’t. Out of the three of them, I feared Nolan would try to steal it. I slung the weapon over my shoulder, and waited for the right time to shoot. I didn’t know if there was a right time. I hardly knew how to handle the weapon. Most of all, though, I was hesitant. I was afraid I was going to lose a part of myself. I was afraid that with one less barrel to shoot, I would become less of a person. I looked towards Hal. “What do you suppose the blast radius of this rocket is?” “I suppose there is only one way to find out, right?” “Once again, Hal, thanks for the help.” I didn’t want to fire it. It seemed like such a waste. A pack of dogs? Yes; just a pack of dogs. It was not going to be used on people with ammunition or anything useful; no. I had to commit to firing a rocket at a pack of vicious dogs. Hal had his golf club ready, and then pulled a revolver from his pocket. Where the hell did he get a revolver from? When did he get it? I didn’t have time to think about that. I had to make a decision, and quickly. I took aim, focusing on the pack in front of us. I pulled the trigger slowly, and felt myself become weaker as the rocket left the barrel. I honestly do not think it was the recoil that produced this reaction. There was a giant ball of fire stemming from where the pack of dogs had been. I had gotten them. I was sure of it. Hal and I each breathed a heavy sigh of relief. But, as the smoke was still rising, through it emerged six of what was originally ten dogs. The look in their eyes was one of determination. Not to mention, hunger. Six survivors, really? I had a hard time believing that, and was disappointed in myself. They split up into groups of three; three going after me, and three going after Hal. They tore up my legs and my chest, but I was able to beat a couple of them off with a pipe. Hal suffered a deep wound in his shoulder, but managed to shoot one of the three, and beat another one off with his golf club.It took some doing, but Hal and I managed to fight them off, killing most and leaving two or three to retreat. We staggered towards the mansion. I went to retrieve my weapon; my identity - or, what was left of it. I staggered alongside Hal, silent. I didn’t want to speak, I didn’t want to think. I didn't want to be anywhere. I was in pain, sure. Yes, what just happened could have gone much worse, but I didn’t care. Not anymore. Which is not to say I ever did; but, at least I had an identity before today. I’d rather be physically hurt than mentally rattled. I had forgotten what it was like to be rattled mentally; emotionally. What if I would have blown up that guard post? We could have taken what was salvageable and been on our way. This moment would have not happened. If it would have, we would have been well-equipped.
I clung to my rocket launcher. It was all I had. If people wanted something from me, they had to go through that barrel first. Or, more likely, they would have at least had to deal with the threat of it.
What’s left of it? I don’t even know what the other two settings do, or if they do anything at all.
I had lost a piece of my intimidation, and now Hal knew that. Soon, the others would know that. I would have to tell them. Hal could shoot me right now, and take what little I have, with the weapon I didn’t even know he had. Perhaps he has been concealing his identity as he has that weapon. Smart man; the only one I know of now. This moment may have earned Hal my trust. He willingly volunteered to go back with me, and we braved this pack of dogs together. I couldn’t tell him that, though. I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t look at Hal, and he made no mention to me. I walked in silence, as if I was alone, with what was left of my identity slung over my shoulder. It’s lighter; I’m weaker. And now, my threats would be empty, just like they used to be. I wonder if this pleased Hal. For some reason, I had a feeling it didn't. I think I trusted him now, even though I didn't want to show it. I am unhinged. I can barely walk, but I am thinking. I am going to be used as a distraction. That is all I am going to be anymore: a distraction. That is all these past 3 days have been: distracting.
“Dogs; that’s a lot of dogs.” Hal loudly whispered over to me.
“Anything else you’d like to point out, Mr. Obvious?”
“Smart ass… no. Do you think they see us?”
“Yeah, they see us. They’re headed this way. And fast. I bet this makes you regret coming with me, hey Hal?”
“It could be worse, Hobson. It could be worse.”
At this point, I didn’t know how. Dogs; ten, by the looks of it, chased us as we scrambled for an idea.
We sprinted, with the idea that we’d get make it back to the mansion where the kind old lady had provided hospitality for us the night before. She lives in the past a bit too much, but I don’t care how much she talks, as long as she helps us when… if, we get there.
The dogs were on us, and I had a decision to make.
“We’re not going to outrun a pack of dogs,” Hal chimed in.
I agreed, as that thought was a big part of the decision I had to make. I slung my identity over my shoulder. For the past two days, I had carried this and protected this as I were caring and protecting myself. I did not leave its side. I couldn’t. Out of the three of them, I feared Nolan would try to steal it.
I slung the weapon over my shoulder, and waited for the right time to shoot. I didn’t know if there was a right time. I hardly knew how to handle the weapon. Most of all, though, I was hesitant. I was afraid I was going to lose a part of myself. I was afraid that with one less barrel to shoot, I would become less of a person. I looked towards Hal.
“What do you suppose the blast radius of this rocket is?”
“I suppose there is only one way to find out, right?”
“Once again, Hal, thanks for the help.”
I didn’t want to fire it. It seemed like such a waste. A pack of dogs? Yes; just a pack of dogs. It was not going to be used on people with ammunition or anything useful; no. I had to commit to firing a rocket at a pack of vicious dogs.
Hal had his golf club ready, and then pulled a revolver from his pocket. Where the hell did he get a revolver from? When did he get it? I didn’t have time to think about that. I had to make a decision, and quickly.
I took aim, focusing on the pack in front of us. I pulled the trigger slowly, and felt myself become weaker as the rocket left the barrel. I honestly do not think it was the recoil that produced this reaction.
There was a giant ball of fire stemming from where the pack of dogs had been. I had gotten them. I was sure of it. Hal and I each breathed a heavy sigh of relief. But, as the smoke was still rising, through it emerged six of what was originally ten dogs. The look in their eyes was one of determination. Not to mention, hunger.
Six survivors, really? I had a hard time believing that, and was disappointed in myself. They split up into groups of three; three going after me, and three going after Hal.
They tore up my legs and my chest, but I was able to beat a couple of them off with a pipe. Hal suffered a deep wound in his shoulder, but managed to shoot one of the three, and beat another one off with his golf club. It took some doing, but Hal and I managed to fight them off, killing most and leaving two or three to retreat. We staggered towards the mansion.
I went to retrieve my weapon; my identity - or, what was left of it. I staggered alongside Hal, silent.
I didn’t want to speak, I didn’t want to think. I didn't want to be anywhere. I was in pain, sure. Yes, what just happened could have gone much worse, but I didn’t care. Not anymore. Which is not to say I ever did; but, at least I had an identity before today. I’d rather be physically hurt than mentally rattled. I had forgotten what it was like to be rattled mentally; emotionally.
What if I would have blown up that guard post? We could have taken what was salvageable and been on our way. This moment would have not happened. If it would have, we would have been well-equipped.
I clung to my rocket launcher. It was all I had. If people wanted something from me, they had to go through that barrel first. Or, more likely, they would have at least had to deal with the threat of it.
What’s left of it? I don’t even know what the other two settings do, or if they do anything at all.
I had lost a piece of my intimidation, and now Hal knew that. Soon, the others would know that. I would have to tell them. Hal could shoot me right now, and take what little I have, with the weapon I didn’t even know he had. Perhaps he has been concealing his identity as he has that weapon.
Smart man; the only one I know of now. This moment may have earned Hal my trust. He willingly volunteered to go back with me, and we braved this pack of dogs together. I couldn’t tell him that, though.
I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t look at Hal, and he made no mention to me. I walked in silence, as if I was alone, with what was left of my identity slung over my shoulder. It’s lighter; I’m weaker. And now, my threats would be empty, just like they used to be. I wonder if this pleased Hal. For some reason, I had a feeling it didn't. I think I trusted him now, even though I didn't want to show it.
I am unhinged. I can barely walk, but I am thinking. I am going to be used as a distraction. That is all I am going to be anymore: a distraction. That is all these past 3 days have been: distracting.